


It's A Double Life

by trenchcoatandimpala



Series: Life [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internal Conflict, M/M, Murder Mystery, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trenchcoatandimpala/pseuds/trenchcoatandimpala
Summary: Dean and Castiel met again on campus but instead of the happy ending Dean was expecting, Castiel is now dating Balthazar, a playboy of all people. Castiel said he wanted to be friends, to start over, but Dean can't stand the fury every time he saw Balthazar's hand draped around the boy's shoulder nor the nights when Castiel never came back to the dorm. As if that's not eating at him enough, murders began to happen around campus. With Castiel being more and more silent and secretive, Dean can't help the feeling that the boy might be involved.The search for Lucifer had begun. Every second they lost, is a second between life and death. Michael can't help past memories from resurfacing as he came to terms with his feelings for the missing man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can be read as a stand alone, but for those who are interested in their past history, you can read "It's A Terrible Life" and "It's A Past Life". This would be the third installation of the series. I hope you will enjoy it!
> 
> Also, I have published "It's A Terrible Life" on Amazon (http://amzn.to/2wyvHcm). I've made a few changed and edit the whole thing basically haha. I won't take it off AO3 because at the end of the day, I write because I love the fandom and want to contribute ^^ But if you do enjoy the fic, please do leave a comment or a review on Amazon! I will deeply appreciate your efforts! Again I want to thank you all for your support because, without your kudos and comments, I would never have made it this far!

**Day 0**

A loud cry of a baby filled the room, mixing in with the rapid praises from the midwife and labored pants of a woman in her early twenties lying in a bed drenched with her own blood. The air was musky and humid. It was mid-summer and they were in a small room, very basement-like in quality instead of a hospital. The woman cried tears of agony and frustration, her deep blue eyes looking anywhere but at the bundle that is screaming its little lungs out. 

"It's a boy. Do you want to hold him?"

The woman turned towards the voice. A young girl almost the same age as her was holding out the bundle towards her. The bundle wriggled, a small pale hand poked out, clutching the midwife's shirt, forming a tiny fist. Dark black hair still wet from the birthing sticks to a small head. She can't see the child's face, nor did she wanted to. Not now anyway. She needed to put distance between herself and this product of sin. Of evil. She wanted nothing to do with the small moving form.

"No. Take him away," she said, exhaustion and bitterness tingeing her voice. 

"But the baby needs to be fed."

"Just give him some milk or something. Just take him away," she grimaced as pain shot up her abdomen from between her legs. "I need to stop the bleeding," she breathed, her head landing on the pillow suddenly as if her neck can no longer support her heavy head. She stared up at the ceiling, contemplating her life from now on. Her parents abandoned her ever since learning of the news. They had wanted nothing to do with her but still, they hadn't wanted her to taint the family name.

The girl looked like she wanted to protest but a hard look from her steeled her resolved. She kept quiet, cuddling the baby in her arm and in a soft soothing voice tried to hush his cries. How lucky. She can afford to be sympathetic. Can afford to look at the bundle without the worries squirming in her stomach, the shame, the unfairness of it all. The reminder of what she had been through. She can afford to look at the boy and be charmed, to coo and soothe him. 

But she can't. She can't look at him without being reminded of his father. 

The midwife started cleaning her up, wiping down the blood between her legs as she muttered words of advice about after birth care. Truth to be told, she can't really keep up with what the midwife is saying, her brain mushy with fatigues, her insides empty and hollow and her heart brimming with hatred and contempt. Life is so unfair, she thought before darkness took over her awareness. 

\---

The sound of a door opening and closing softly startled Dean out of his vivid dream. Dream of the past. The horror and pain. The humiliation and terror. Heart racing, he tried to calm himself down. It was just a dream. He's no longer there, at that place, in the basement. His back tingled as sweat cooled on his forehead. Although cold sweat still clung onto his damp skin, he hugged the comforter, savoring its thickness and weight. Warm. Real. 

The soft cautious footsteps outside drew his attention. Dean sat up, staring at the line of light illuminating the bottom of his door. He stared until he saw the shadow walked past it, darkening the room just a little as it went by. Then he heard the soft click that meant Castiel had entered his room on the other side of Dean's. Sighing, Dean laid back down on his bed, staring absent-mindedly at the ceiling. Blindly, he reached for his phone lying on the window sill by the side of his bed. 

3am. 

No wonder it was still dark. Though, the season being winter it wouldn't come as a surprise if it will still be dark at 8 in the morning. Feeling depressed, Dean turned on his side, burrowing deeper into his comforter. He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep. Normally, he wasn't that light a sleeper that he would wake up to the sound of the door opening and closing. But nights of waiting up for Castiel made his subconscious alert to these telltale sounds. 

He knew why Castiel was back so late at night. Even though there were curfews restricting their night activities, it seems that Castiel had no qualm nor trouble breaking it. Dean suddenly felt a sting of anger at their university lack of strict disciplinary action. If they had, Castiel wouldn't be able to wander about at night like he owned the place. Maybe he should file a complaint their blocks' RA. Anonymously of course. He doesn't want Castiel to think he was jealous or being prissy. 

But truth is, he so jealous he was surprised he hadn't turned green yet. Every time, he saw them together, Dean had to grit his teeth and pretended to be okay, friendly. Normal. Like hell! When all he wanted to do was wrench that bastard's hand around Castiel's shoulder and break it. Whoa, that was some serious anger management issues. But he hadn't. How can he when he promised Castiel that they will start over. As friends. A clean slate. 

But when the hell does that mean that Castiel can start dating again?! That was not what he had signed up for. Jesus Christ!

And why of all people was Castiel dating that fucker, Balthazar Roche?! Even his name sounded pretentious as shit. Not to mention that the guy is a well-known playboy. He had strings and strings of boys and girls dangling off his arms. And Dean can be sure that the man hadn't stayed loyal in the time that he was dating Castiel. So why? Dean wanted to shake Castiel and asked him that very question but he lost his nerve every time that boy's blue eyes met his. 

How can he ask without it sounding accusatory? Or worse, digging up memories of the past? Of Lucifer? And the way he was treated then. Even if Dean doesn't voice it out, but the moment he brought up Balthazars' playboy ways, the both of them will make the same comparison. The unspoken words will ring between them. And Dean's afraid. Afraid to break the tender sense of normalcy between them. Maybe these moments of tranquility are fake, that they are just stepping around each other, carefully threading because they wanted to keep this fake bubble from bursting. Maybe the smart thing to do is to deal with their history instead of pretending it never happened.

But like all cowards, Dean wanted to keep the bubble. Because the pain and suffering that came from talking about the past were too much to bear and he never wanted to see that hurt look on Castiel's face ever again. If that means he had to deal with Castiel dating Balthazar then he would. As long as Castiel is happy, he can deal with it. _If_ Castiel is happy. 

Sighing again, he forced himself not to think and started counting sheep. He knew that it was hopeless but did so anyway. At least his mind will then be occupied with numbers instead of images of Castiel smiling and looking at him with eyes brimming with love. The soft sighs and moan from his pale lips as they kissed. Or the warmth of his body in his arm nor the sinewy lean muscles flexing and trembling at his touch. 

Ah, fuck. He lost count.

\---

Back aching and a throbbing butt, Castiel carefully sat down on his bed. Balthazar was being enthusiastic again. He wondered how the man has such stamina to go 5 rounds without once pulling out. That's just plain demonic. Wincing, he leaned over to pick up his laptop which was lying on the floor beside his bed. Starting it up, he cocked his head as he listened. No noise from the room next door. Dean must still be asleep. Sighing with relief, he logged onto skype.

As soon as he got his headphone plugged in, he turned off mute. Staring at his contact, he clicked on the green head. Quickly, he types in a small message and clicked enter.

 **C.Novak:** I got news. Are you free to chat?

 **M. Angelo:** Yes. One second. I'll call.

Castiel waited for awhile before the familiar ringtone and a pop-up appeared on his screen. He clicked answer and immediately his screen changed to one of a man with dark black hair and piercing blue eyes staring intently at the screen. 

"Hello, Michael."

"Castiel," Michael greeted as he managed a forced smile. The man looked strained and pale like he hadn't had much sleep in the past few days. Weeks even. And Castiel doesn't doubt that that's the case. He knew how worried Michael was about Lucifer. And the fact that it had been now two months since he was taken. They hadn't wanted to mention it, not him, Michael nor Gabriel. That the possibility of finding Lucifer alive is as slim as a sheet of paper. 

"You have news?" Michael prodded, swiping hand over his normally well-kept hair but was now a shaggy mess. Like Castiel, his hair was sticking up on end, some just barely covering his eyes. The blue in his eyes looked brighter than usual as well, and his pupils are pinpricks. Michael must be tired. He doesn't look too good.

"Yes, I do," Castiel said, not wanting to waste time asking the man how he was doing because it was quite obvious. And knowing Michael, he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. All he was focused on these past weeks and months were to locate Lucifer's whereabout.

"You were right in estimating that if Cain were still alive, he would have needed medical help. And as such would have contacted people in his previous social network. Based on your findings with regards to who Abel Linchester had contacted with before he died, we can safely conclude now that it was indeed Sebastian Roche, Balthazar's dad that took up that job. Balthazar just vented that his father was never home at all the past year because of a "secret" job he took back early last year which coincides with the dates of the Linchester's mansion explosion. The one that supposedly took the life of Cain, his daughter, and Lucifer."

"Seeing that Lucifer is still alive, I wonder how much of the news is real and how much of it is planted. Cain may very well be alive. We need to talk to Sebastian Roche," Michael concluded. "Do you know his whereabouts at the moment?"

"According to Balthazar, he thinks that his father is in Amsterdam. He saw his flight tickets."

"Amsterdam? Would be worth a shot. I'll fly there tomorrow and look around. Good work, Castiel. Stick with Balthazar. See if he knows anything more. And just in case, if his father returns. I want to know asap if anything changed." 

Feeling warm from the praise, Castiel nodded. It felt good to be appreciated. And Michael has always treated him fairly, like a human being of the same social standing as he is. He never looked at Castiel with pity in his eyes nor a guilty pinch on his face. He sees him as equals and that was what Castiel found extremely freeing. With Michael, he never has to be afraid of his past nor feel ashamed. He doesn't have to feel squirmish every time those steely blue eyes landed on him. He feels like a person. A normal, working, dependable and useful being.

And that was something he wasn't used to feeling his entire life. He treasured these moments when he felt useful. And not because he was on his back, legs spread and being thrust into. 

Michael ended their call. For a moment, the stillness in the room pressed down on Castiel. He wondered if Michael would be able to find Dr. Roche. And if he did, will the man tell them where Cain is. The thought of Lucifer gave him mixed feelings. He worried about the man. The last time Castiel saw him, he was in a state near death and he wondered if maybe, the man was already dead. Cain had a huge grudge against him and despite the fact that they left Lucifer alive, tortured and living in his own excrement the first time doesn't mean that they wouldn't just kill him and end it all the second time. 

The thought of Lucifer dead saddened him. For one, Michael would be devastated. Castiel liked Michael and he doesn't want to see the man suffer. As for him, he had long ago forgave the man for pimping him out. That was all in the past. And Castiel did go along with it so he took half the blame as well for what happened to him. No, what still gave him nightmares were the manic drug-induced eyes, taunting him, laughing and jeering at him. The beatings he took and the fact that he was left to die, like trash. 

That was something he couldn't let go. No matter how hard he tried. 

Castiel put away his laptop and laid in bed, wincing as his back protest the movement. He pushed down his trousers, frowning when he noticed the bruises on his hips. He thought that wouldn't have to see wounds like these on his body ever again but there they were, clear as day. Castiel sighed. He might still have to lay on his back but at least this time it was his choice. His decision to get close to Balthazar. Part of him was glad that Balthazar wasn't a serious man. That he didn't take their relationship for something serious. Because that would make the job ten times harder than it would be.

Playing with a person's heart or feelings. That's the worst you could do to someone. And Castiel never wanted to put anyone through it. 

Then, his thoughts turned to Dean. He was shocked to discover that Dean was his dorm mate. The shock quickly becoming panic and then anger and last of all and still lingering; pain. It hurts to look at Dean. Because Dean brought back both happy yet painful memories. Happy times that were always tinged with bittersweet regret and hurt. He loved Dean and he thinks Dean loved him too, but in what sense? Did he love Castiel as who he is or was it experiences they both shared, making them feel more for the other than in any other ordinary situation? 

Also, Castiel cannot exclude guilt from Dean's case. Every time their eyes met, Castiel can see regret and remorse in those green orbs. And he hated it. Dean made his choice. He chose his father over Castiel. Decided to abandon him. At that time, Castiel knew it was the only choice. Family always wins. He knew but it didn't mean that it hurt any less. And Castiel had learned to live with it. Dean has to learn to live with it as well. It's not on Castiel to make him feel better. 

Suddenly, Castiel felt very petty. Closing his eyes, he turned in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position in bed that will favor his sore back and aching butt. It's time to let go. That was what he wanted. Let go of these unfinished businesses, these cut short feelings and what ifs. He's tired. All these unresolved sentiments were draining him. More than any physical activities can. It's late. He needed to sleep. Even though Castiel was only here for Balthazar, he still has to keep up appearance. And that means going to classes and doing his assignments. 

He smiled. It never crossed his mind that he would be able to participate in activities as mundane as these. Part of him thrived in the routine of it all. He always wanted a normal life. And now he's on campus. Studying Medicine of all courses. He wanted to laugh at himself. If he played his cards right, he might be able to enjoy his short time as a university student. And to be truly honest, he looked forward to Dean's company at breakfast tomorrow. After everything he thought he felt, Dean was still the source of his comfort. He can always find solace in his warm and boisterous demeanor. 

He found himself smiling to sleep as he remembered what Dean said this morning on his theory about how onions make you fart and proceed to drop a stinking bomb in the dorm.

\---

The wet sound of something sticky and thick dripping to the floor was loud in the room. All he can smell was the tangy scent of iron and the icy winter air that was so sharp in his nose that it felt like a physical thing. His eyes were drooping, and despite the coldness, he can feel the wetness trickling down his body. It's so cold, a bone deep cold that chilled deep inside him, unable to him feel any warmth nor sought any relief. 

He lifted his tired lids, trembling again when he saw the sharp blade flexing in front of him, covered in what he assumed must be his own blood. His whole body started to shake, and he felt himself breaking. He's so scared, and everything is just a sharp unrelenting pain. His wrists chaffed where they were bound up over his head to the ceiling. His toes just barely grazed the cold tile floor. At first, he had been able to support himself, to ease the pull and pressure on his arms but now, even if he wanted to, he had no strength left.

The full weight of his body laid solely on his arms now, both of which he's pretty sure were dislocated by now. His body simply had no strength to hold anything together anymore. 

His eyes followed the swing of the blade that kept taunting him, glinting in the overbright room. He would rather the room be dark. At least then he wouldn't have a ghastly vivid picture of what's happening detailed to that single drop of blood five feet away from him. It was all wet and sticky beneath his feet. A pool of blood covered what used to be a pale green color. The puddle spread in lines throughout the tiled floors, seeping in between the cracks like a grotesque macabre of a spider web.

Again, the knife carved into him, slicing just above his rib cage, not deep enough to cause any damage to his internal organ but just right to elicit the worst of the pain. He screamed into the stuffing in his mouth, tears pouring out of his eyes, snot trickling down to mix with his saliva that felt stiff and frozen on his skin. He just wished this would end. He doesn't care anymore if he's going to be killed or what not, he just needed the pain to end. Whatever survival instinct he had in the beginning had faded away, to be replaced by this certainty. 

He's going to die today. 

He could already see tomorrow headlines. **"Tommy Collins found dead, body sliced to shreds."**

Well, he might be exaggerating a little but based on how he feels now, he doesn't think it's too far a shot. He screamed again as the tip of the knife slice over his right nipple. Oh, for the love of all God, just let him die already, he thought as the blade ripped open the skin on his inner thigh.


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm blasted through the still room, blaring the opening guitar solo of Smokes On Water. No one moved and the loud but awesome rendition went on for another 30 seconds before someone grunted, shuffled and a moment later, a pillow flew across the room to smack Dean in the face.

"Turn the noise down man," complained his long and lanky roommate, Garth Fitzgerald in his somewhat country accent. He talked slow and gentle, despite the fact that he was complaining. But that's just the way he is. Garth is one of the most relax and zen people Dean had ever encountered. He's way too easy going that it borders on being indifferent, but Dean knew better. Garth is the exact opposite of indifferent. He cared a lot, had a big heart and a hug for everyone. 

Dean stretched in his bed, eliciting a huge moan as his back pop. Ah, the comfort of winter mornings when his bed was still as warm as a cocoon. He doesn't want to get up. He just wanted to lay buried inside this coziness. He unconsciously hugged Garth's pillow and got reminded that it wasn't one of his when Garth's bizarre shampoo smell filled his nostrils. 

"Gah! What do you use for shampoo man, it stinks!" he groaned, flinging the pillow back at the sleeping man. 

Garth giggles, before cuddling his pillow closer. "It's called earthworm man. It good for your hair. Don't mock it till you try it."

"Earthworm," Dean muttered under his breath, shivering at the thought of it. Ew.

Reluctantly, he got up from his bed and padded towards his trusty morning robe. He had already received a few snide and ridicule for it but hey, it's winter and it's freaking cold. You cannot blame him for wanting to be warm and toasty when he had to tear himself from the comfort of his bed at fuck-o'clock in the morning. Nothing was even shining through the window yet. Not one freaking sunlight. Okay, maybe a little barely there illumination from the moon. 

Bear in mind. Moon. That means no sane person should be up yet. Sighing, Dean condemned the life of a university student. And fuck him for having morning classes 3 times a week for his first semester. He had to thank his lucky stars. Not.

Slowly, he padded outside in his bedroom slippers. He seriously looks like a grandpa. But he doesn't give a shit. They warmed him up and that's the only thing he cared about. He can be decent after a shower but not before that. He closed the door softly, not wanting to disturb Garth anymore than he needed to. Lucky bastard. He only has one morning class. And that's on a Wednesday, the middle of the week where one would still have the capacity to deal with shit. 

Dean looked over at Castiel's door. No movement. No sounds. He must still be asleep. Dean shuffled his way to their shared living room or better said living space plus a small kitchen. There's only one two seater couch, a few bean bags and pretty chunky table in the middle. No dining space, so most of the time, they either eat in their room or here with the rest. They shared this space with the six of them. There are four rooms in total. Two, two persons' room and two single persons' room. Castiel and Charlie Bradbury, a spicy redhead girl studying Computer Science occupied the single rooms. 

Well, Dean and Garth shared the room beside Castiel's and Adam Milligan and Andrew Gallagher shared the other one next to Charlie's. Adam is quiet and kept mostly to himself. He seemed a bit shy or just not to at ease with crowds so most of the time, they left him be. But Charlies and Garth who never wanted anyone to feel left out kept insisting that he joined them for meals. There were times when he can see Adam's gratitude but there were also times, when the discomfort exuding from the boy was so obvious, it stank up the room. 

Andrew, on the other hand, is your typical, I-want-to-experience-campus-life-to-the-max type of person. He smoked bongs in his room, took all sorts of drugs and spent most of the days with bloodshot eyes and a high expression. If he weren't a relax dude, almost hippie-like, it might have been triggering. Especially for Castiel, who already stiffened up sometimes when Andrew got too close when he was high, making passes at Castiel with too bright eyes. Andrew is horny when he's high, something everyone learned on the first day when he started hitting on everyone, boys or girls. Charlie got so offended, she gave him a slap. That was funny.

It was still dark and quiet in the dorm but Dean can make out the light shining out the bottom of Charlie's room. Shadows flittered past sometimes, rapid movements like whoever it belonged to was in a hurry. Dean smirked to himself. Luckily, it doesn't seem like he was the only one who had to get their ass up this morning. True to his words, Charlie bust out, red long locks a mess, pinned up with some obscure bunny looking pin one side up and glasses askew. 

"Oh hey, Dean!" she greeted, breathless. "Morning!" She gave him a peace sign before grabbing the carton of milk in his hand and proceed to pour herself a glassful before gulping it down like a maniac. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean protested. "Where are your manners, young lady?" 

Charlie cocked one eyebrow up before wiping the milk goatee she supported with her shirt sleeves, careful not to dirty light purple blazer. Dean took in her outfit today, Bright pink blouse over a Harry Potter T-shirt and deep purple jeans- nope, that hideous thing cannot be considered jeans, pants for lack of better word. "I guess I can withstand being called a young lady by someone who dressed like my uncle Larry. And you bet my ass, at least my Uncle Larry looks a wee bit more fashionable than whatever you called what you're wearing," Charlie made a vague gesture in his general direction, indicating his overall being. 

"How dare you," Dean began pretending to sound indignant. This is routine now. Just as he was attempting to put both his hands on his waist, the door to the dorm opened and in stepped Castiel. Dean stopped his motion halfway, surprised. He thought he heard Castiel came in last night. What is he doing up and out so early in the morning?

Castiel stopped when he noticed that he was being stared at, looked up and nodded briefly. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes even as he tried to muster up a smile. The lines around his eyes seemed strained like he's worried or something is massively bugging him. Concerned, Dean took a step forward. "Cas, you alright? You looked like shit."

Huffing a breath, Castiel answered snidely but not without humor, "Thank you, Dean. For so kindly pointing it out. I feel like shit," he mumbled, running a hand through his messy dark brown almost black hair. He has thick hair, Dean noticed, as the strands all moved in opposite direction making Castiel looked like a very prickly hedgehog. Dean wanted to laugh at the thought but kept it down. He walked towards Castiel and placed his hand on the blue-eyed boy's forehead. 

Castiel stiffened up but relaxed under the touch. "Ah, your hand is warm," he sighed, leaning into his touch.

The corner of his mouth lifted a little as he felt Castiel's temperature. The boy's skin is cold to the touch like he'd been outside for a while. Dean frowned. Well, at least he's not feverish or anything. Dean wondered if Castiel went out to meet Balthazar again. It wouldn't surprise him if Balthazar had called Castiel over on a whim. That man is a selfish prick that thinks only of himself and his convenience. Seriously, what does Castiel sees in that guy? Argh!

"You feel cold, Cas," Dean said, starting to take off his robe. He draped the heavy thing around Castiel and bundled him up warm and cozy in it. Castiel smiled, a genuine one as he pulled the robe closer. 

"Thank you, Dean," he said quietly. Dean's heart warmed at that. Oh, how he missed Castiel's quiet joy and secret smiles. He wanted them all!

"Jeez, flirting much?" Charlie commented, staring at them where she's perched on the edge of the chunky wooden table eating a bagel. Dean frowned, eyebrow creasing up in worry. He chanced a glance at Castiel. The fuck, Charlie? Can't you see this moment is fragile? And they all knew Castiel was dating Balthazar so what the hell? Don't make things awkward! Castiel's staring down at his knuckles holding the robe together, a quietness not like the one before overtook him. 

"Dean flirts with everyone, Charlie," Castiel attempted, as he walked past Dean in the direction of his room. 

"Hey! That's not true!" Dean protested again, spluttering. "I'm just a friendly person!" he added when the both of them turned knowing expression at him. "What's wrong with being friendly? How come none of you accused Garth of being flirty, huh?"

Charlie laughed. "Garth? Oh boy, I would love to see the day when Garth succeeds in being flirty," she said, shoulder trembling a little from keeping her laughter inside. "You, on the other hand, can flirt with your eyes closed. Maybe it's because you have a pretty face. Whatever comes out of your mouth sounds like sweet talk," Charlie winked at him. Dean would think she's flirting with him if he hadn't already known that Charlie is gay. 

"You're a flirt too," Dean pouted, crossing his arms over his chest in a stubborn attempt at being sullen. 

"I know," Charlie preened, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she said it. "I have my charms."

There's a small huff of laughter from the other side of the room. "You definitely do, Charlie," Castiel agreed, opening the door to his room. "Do you mind if I borrowed this for a bit, Dean? It really warm and comfortable," he said, stopping halfway into his room. 

"Of course! Especially since you're the only one who doesn't mock me for wearing that thing. Keep it. I won't be back until late this evening anyway. Classes back to back. Ugh, that is why I hate Mondays. I hate them!" Dean gripped his hair, scrunching up his face to show how much he indeed hate the oncoming onslaught of information later in the day. The crazy thing is, he paid for this shit. He can't believe he let Bobby and Sam talked him into taking up the course. But part of him knew they were right. If Dean wanted a future, a good education is the best bet. 

"Thank you. Again," Castiel said before disappearing into his room. 

Dean stared at the closed door for awhile before Charlie interrupted his thoughts. "Look anymore and you'll burn a hole through the door," she said carelessly, getting up and flinging her sling bag over her shoulder. "It's so obvious that you're in love with Castiel! At least tone it down," she grumbled shaking her head. 

"I never denied loving him," Dean muttered, looking down. "He knows that."

"Whoa, all aboard the angst ship. You have to pardon me if I skip out on this one." Charlie tapped him on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, bro. Tough it out," she said before exiting their dorm leaving Dean alone to stew in his own juice. 

\---

Michael took the first flight available to Amsterdam. By the time he arrived at Schipol airport, he was wrecked. He tried to sleep on the flight but every second he was about to nod off, the image of Lucifer's broken body flashed through his mind, startling him awake. He barely had any sleep these days. Too wound up, too tensed. There was no news whatsoever about Lucifer. They had all flown to Portugal the day after Lucifer was taken but there was nothing. No traces, or leads, or witness. Nothing. Nada. Zip. 

It was like Lucifer was never there to began with. And that was how they came up with the notion that maybe Cain wasn't in Portugal anymore. Maybe he relocated. Went somewhere else after the explosion. So that was where they started the investigation. Talked to whoever was still alive who had connections with the Linchesters. He thought back on what he knew about Abel when he was contracted to kill the man. What info he did dig up on him. 

The man had made a few phone calls and trips to England to visit a person by the name of Sebastian Roche. Upon further inspection, they discovered that said person was a high ranking mob doctor. That sealed their theory on Cain. Their next step was to get into contact with Dr. Roche but that man was nowhere to be found. He wasn't home anymore and no one at the estate knew where he went. Of course, even if they did know, who in their right mind would divulge that information.

But what they did learn was the fact that he had a son, who was currently staying abroad in the States. When they learned of his habits and hobbies, Castiel had volunteered to approach the man. Michael felt a pinch in his heart at the same time he felt a small sense of relief. Relief that they were going somewhere but uneasy with the relationship between Castiel and Lucifer. The boy had said he forgave Lucifer for the things he made him do, which Michael found unbelievable. 

What happened to Castiel back in Lawrence changed him whole as a person. He can no longer go back to being the boy he once was before meeting Lucifer. He wouldn't have to endure the endless humiliation and degradation he was subjected. And yet, here he was, trying to help save the man who put him through hell and back. And despite not wanting to acknowledge it, he knew Castiel was still sleeping with Lucifer. Maybe their bond was stronger than he thought? Maybe Castiel still loved Lucifer.

But how could anyone still love and forgive someone who made you go through all that? Michael knew he can never. He gritted his teeth, determined to put the past behind him as he punched in the number for car rental. He doesn't care anymore. All he wanted was a good night sleep and rid his body of this constant tension and anxiety. Lucifer has hell to pay when he finds him. That stubborn bastard. Michael won't forgive him for at least two weeks!

 _If_ they find him alive. 

Just like that, his mood sunk back into the dumps where it had been for the past months.

\---

**Age 3**

The boy's attention was focused on the drawing he was making, tongue out and blue eyes sharp and alert. He's pretty small for his age, one strap of his overalls falling off one shoulder. His raven black hair flopped over his eyes causing him to push them back in an adorable awkward gesture only a child can make when they were just starting to learn how to use their limbs. 

The girl watching him smile. He had grown into a handsome little guy. It seemed just like yesterday when she held the tiny screaming bundle in her arms. She shuffled closer, peeping at what he was drawing. All she can make out were crooked lines wriggling its way throughout the paper. It doesn't seem like anything to her but it must have meant something to the boy because he dropped the crayon he was holding in a flourish, smiling wide.

Curious, she asked. "What did you draw, sweetheart?"

"My mommy!" he beamed hugging the paper to his chest. "See? She's hugging me!" he exclaimed as he held the paper tightly in his tiny fists. 

The girl's smile faltered but she held on, sidling up to the little boy. She draped her arms around him and softly tucked her chin on top of his head, feeling the hair tickling her face. "Do you want your mommy to hold you?" she asked.

The tiny head under her nodded. 

"Are my hugs and touches not good enough?" she asked already knowing the answer. "Don't you love your nanny"

"I love you!" the boy exclaimed scrambling in her arms to turn around and faced her. "You always read me stories. And give me good night kisses," he smiled, blue eyes big and earnest as he held her face in his tiny palms. "But I also want mommy to hold me and give me kisses," he said softly. "Why don't mommy want to hold me?" he asked.

"I don't know, sweetheart," she answered, brushing the hair out of his face as she planted a kiss on his forehead. "Some people have a hard time showing affection."

"What is avcechion?" the boy asked.

"It means love," she explained.

"Mommy doesn't know how to show love?" he asked, staring at her wide eyed. Then, he brightened up. "What if I show mommy how to love?" he jumped up, excited. "Then, maybe she can hold my hand and kiss me to sleep like in the stories you read me!" Face beaming with hope and anticipation, he ran off in the direction of the garden where his mother was working on the flower bed. The girl wanted to stop him, but she didn't. Like the boy, she hoped that would be the case. 

She stood up and watched as the boy ran up to his mother and hugged her from behind. The woman stiffened up at first before relaxing just that tiny bit. The girl watched as hope soared inside her. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe his mother wasn't as stone cold as she always appeared to be. But a moment later, she had to swallow her own words because his mother had started meticulously plucking her son's hand from her body, not bothering to even turn around or say a word. Just removing the boy's hold on her one finger at a time. 

Then, she resumed her gardening, completely ignoring the boy's presence. It felt as if the boy sensed something from his mother because he just stood there, staring at her unforgiving back, and didn't try to approach her again. He may be a child, but she knew that the boy knew his mother doesn't love him. 

She turned her back on the sight, unable to watch the boy expressionless face as he stared at his mother, blue eyes big and sad. How can a person be so cruel, she found herself wondering for the thousandth times.


	3. Chapter 3

The room was still shrouded in darkness, the only light coming in was from the window. A pale silvery ray from the setting moon. It might have been brighter if the sheer curtain wasn't covering it. Castiel shuffled towards the window. He didn't bother with the curtain. It was almost transparent and Castiel could clearly see what was outside. They were on the third floor so there weren't any trees large enough to obstruct the view. 

In the not so far distance, Castiel could see the twinkling light reflecting off the sea surface. Their university was located quite near the beach. About a 20 minutes walk from where they were. When Castiel felt like it and if it wasn't too cold, Castiel would open the window and let the sea breeze wafted in. If he was lucky, he could hear the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore. He reveled in them. He loved nature and was delighted when he saw the sea. The first thing he did upon arriving was taking a stroll down along the coast, unable to stop the smile pulling at his face.

Pulling the robe closer on himself, Castiel took a deep breath. It smelled like Dean. The fresh pine soap he used. Castiel lifted up the collar, breathing in deeply. Smiling, he sighed into the fruity scent that was Dean shampoo. The robe was still warm from Dean's body. To be wrapped in them, he can almost feel Dean solid body against him, pressing on him. Hugging him. Holding him. He opened his eyes again. He must be really tired to be imagining things like these. 

He had woken up in the dorm's shared washroom, leaning against the toilet. That had shocked him. He didn't even remember going to the toilet last night. All he remembered was curling up to bed after his talk with Michael and well, slept. He hoped he's not developing sleep walking. That would be inconvenient. He needed to take more rest. All the stress and worry the past months were not doing him any good. At least, he got off better than Michael, he thought, remembering waking up to the man staring out the window of their hotel room back in Portugal.

He hadn't slept much during their trip and Castiel doubt that he will be sleeping much now. 

Checking the time on his phone, he let out a groan when he sees that it was almost 7am. He only has another hour before he needed to get ready for class. One hour. Should he or should he not go back to sleep? He would probably wake up much grumpier than if he stuck it out now. He let himself flopped down onto the bed, robe and all and curled up against his pillow. Ah, an hour is still an hour. He's going to crash and no one is going to stop him. Closing his eyes, he let himself drifted off.

\---

Dean was about to head out when a knock sounded on the door. Frowning, he opened it only to be greeted by the last person he wanted to see. Ever. 

Balthazar Roche, all 6 feet tall of him stood in front of the doorway. He looked too well put for this hour in the morning, Dean noted grimly. His wavy blonde hair was styled to perfection around his face and Dean's eyebrow twitched when he saw that this imbecile even trimmed his stubble. It looked perfect. Subconsciously, he rubbed his hand over his own four days old bristles. 

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"And a good morning to you too," greeted Balthazar as he made a stupid tip of the hat gesture even when he wasn't wearing one before stepping into the room, much to Dean's annoyance. "Where's Cassie? Is he still asleep?" he asked, turning around to look at Dean, brushing off imaginary lint from his no doubt expensive as shit designer suits.

"Yes, and I would prefer you not disturb him. Unlike you, he needs to sleep, okay?" he gritted out. "What are you anyway? A robot? A fucking sex machine," he muttered the last part to himself.

"What?" asked Balthazar putting one hand up to his ear, looking oh-so-innocent. Dean wanted to punch his perfect face.

"Nothing," he mumbled, grabbing his bag and headed toward the door. "Just see to it that you don't disturb the neighbors if you're planning on doing the nasty," Dean added, motioning to the other rooms where assumingly Adam and Garth were still sleeping and Andrew, presumably too stoned to care. 

"Oh, Dean. You don't have to be so obvious about it. Even a blind man could tell that you have a thing for Cassie. You know what," Balthazar asked, walking closer. "If you're so interested, I wouldn't mind having a ménage a trois. I'm sure I could convince Cassie to go with it."

_"So when he asked if I'm open for a threesome, I didn't even hesitated. He brought Azazel the next day. Lucifer participated the first time but then he started to remove himself. A week later, he wasn't even in the room anymore."_

"Although you're too buff for my liking, you do have a pretty face," Balthazar continues, taking hold of his chin and tilted his face left and right. 

Before Dean could even comprehend what he wanted to do or what he was doing, he had grabbed Balthazar's too expensive collar and breathed down his face. "If you ever suggest having a threesome with Cas, I'll make sure this perfect face of yours is not so perfect anymore," he growled. 

Balthazar stared up at him with wide shocked eyes, pupils dilated. Dean can see his own reflection in those blue orbs. He should be scared of what he saw. A murderous rage. A snarling beast. But he was too angry to care. If Balthazar ever makes Castiel go through what he'd endured before, then so help him, God, Dean will do everything in his power to stop him. He had failed once. He's not going to let Castiel down again. This time, he will protect Castiel. 

Shoving the stunned man aside, Dean threw open the door and stormed out. He had made mistakes in his life but those concerning Castiel were his worst. No matter how much he wanted to, he can't turn back time. Can't undo the wrong he did. Can't make the devastated look on Castiel's face that haunted him in his dreams disappear. 

\---

"Cassie."

Someone was calling his name. Castiel turned in his sleep, eyes still closed. 

"Cassie."

Blazing blue eyes stared down at him, eyes filled with emotion like a hurricane at sea. _"Good boy."_

Castiel startled awake, almost hitting his forehead against the object sitting atop him. "Balthazar!" he exclaimed, trying to swipe the lingering cobwebs of his dreams. Of lingering touches and sweet promise. "What are you doing here?" Castiel asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Wakey, wakey, Cassie," Balthazar singsonged, hips swaying on top of his in a childlike gesture.

"Alright, alright. Wait a second," Castiel groused before adding, "And stop rocking."

"What? You don't like it?" Balthazar asked, smirking playfully as he rubbed his butt harder against his groin. Castiel groaned. Not again. But despite his protest, he felt himself reacting. Possibly due to the fact that he was already supporting morning wood. "Wanna play?"

"How are you so energetic this early in the morning," Castiel grumbled, putting his hand around Balthazar's waist. 

"I have the stamina of a king!" he announced. "That might be wrong. An athlete! Maybe that's wrong too. Aha! The stamina of a horn dog!"

Castiel laughed, chest rumbling. "Does that even exist?"

"In England, it does," Balthazar winked before leaning down to plant a kiss on his mouth. "Hmm, morning breath. I never get tired of it." Balthazar deepened the kissed, their tongue slowly sliding against one another. Castiel felt his hips moved involuntarily and Balthazar beared down, smirking into the kiss. "Now, now. Who is the horn dog, my dear Cassie?"

Castiel sighed as Balthazar scooted down so that he's settled against his knees, grabby hands tugging on his sweatpants. "By the way, what in world are you wearing?" he asked indicating the robe. Castiel had almost forgotten that he fell asleep wearing it. 

"It's Dean. I was cold this morning. He was kind enough to loan it to me."

"And you're sleeping in it? Do you know how jealous that would make your boyfriend?" Balthazar asked playfully as he stroked Castiel's hard on. 

Biting in a moan, Castiel didn't answer. He knew the question was rhetorical. Balthazar was never once faithful during their one-month relationship and it was sort of an open understanding that they have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. Balthazar took him into his mouth, lewd moan cut off by Castiel's girth. Clenching his fist into the bed sheet, Castiel tried to keep his voice inside. He doesn't want his roommates to hear him have sex. Especially if Dean was still outside. 

"Ohmygod," he gasped softly, staring down at the bobbing blonde head. You can say what you may about Balthazar but that man is good at sex. Before he lost himself to the sensation, he managed to uttered out a question. "How did you got so good at this? You learned it at the Red Light District in Amsterdam?"

Remembering their conversation last night, he decided to try to prod for more information. When Michael lands in Netherlands, he will need more specific details. 

"Hahaha. Can you believe I have never once stepped foot there?" Balthazar leaned up, wiping the saliva from his glistening mouth. He smirked. "Unfortunately, the only time I've been to Amsterdam was when I was at the naive age of 15. And the only place I saw was farmlands and lots of trees," he shuddered, unbuckling his belt. 

"I doubt you were ever naive, Balthazar," Castiel scoffed. "Where were you then?"

"In a small town call Elburg where my dad has his holiday home. All I did that summer was lots of riding. Gave me lots of muscle pain but not the good kind. Horseback riding," he winked. "It didn't do me any good then, but if you want, I can take you there coming summer. It's pretty romantic. I can be your white prince is shining armor." 

Balthazar unzipped his suit pant and pulled out his erection. Grabbing Castiel by the back of the knees, Balthazar spread him open, whistling in appreciation. "Wow, Cassie. You're still loose from last night. And wet," he added, running a finger over his rim. Castiel hissed. He was still sensitive but as Balthazar guided his cock into him, thrusting hard and deep, punching a gasp out of Castiel, all he could think of was that, his work is done. 

He will text Michael with the new information. And then, his job here is complete. 

He stared up at the man, panting and sweating above him and cupped his cheek. Sorry, Balthazar. Although he may seem like a careless playboy, he was never mean to Castiel. Despite his high sexual appetite, he was always tender with him, showering him with pecks and kisses just like he is now. Kissing his forehead, his eyelids and slowly returning to his mouth. Even though he was never faithful, he never neglected his duty as a boyfriend. Always waiting for Castiel after classes, eating their meals together, going to the movies, dates and all the simple, ordinary things couple does. 

To be honest, it was the first time he engaged in these sort of activities. Dating. That was what it was called. He deepened his kiss, much to Balthazar's delight, as he apologized again and again. Words that will never be heard. 

\---

**Age 5**

The woman looked out the window, the midday sunlight catching the gleaming blue of her eyes as she stared at the two boys playing out in the garden. The boy is now five and each passing day he started to resemble more and more of his father although their neighbors kept telling her how much they looked alike. The raven black hair, their blue eyes. Even their distinctive olive colored pale skin. She doesn't see it at all. All she saw when she looked at the boy was the man who ruined her life.

The boy was a product of sin. Sooner or later he will show his true color and be the man his father was. And when that day comes, she will be ready.

She gripped the knife she was washing in the sink tightly before releasing her death grip, scrubbing the peanut butter stain from it. The sun played at the suds and bubbles emanating from the sink, turning every little orb into a rainbow display. She continued to scrub the remaining dishes, her rubber gloves making the occasional squeaking sound. A sudden burst of laughter or giggles erupted outside. She glanced up.

The boy was pink in the face, eyes bright as he smiled at their neighbor's son, Derrick. She frowned. They were holding hands. Before her eyes, the boy leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Derrick's cheek, giggling in the process, the type of happiness and innocence only a child could display flowing out of his every pore. But she knew. Oh, did she knew. That childlike purity was just a facade, there to deceive everyone that he was pure and good. Not the devil's son he was.

The two boys started chatting excitedly, swinging their still held fast hands between them. She doesn't know what overcame her but all she saw was red. She knew it. She knew the day would come when she would regret ever bringing that child into this world. Hands trembling, she took off her gloves and walked out the kitchen door, towards the two boys playing on the green green grass. The boy looked up when he sensed her approach, blue eyes brightening as his face broke into a wide smile.

"Mommy, Derrick and I decided to get married! That way we can always play together! Forever and ever!" he announced swinging the other boy's hand, face flushed with excitement.

She didn't hesitate, didn't thought twice when she brought her palm down and slapped the boy hard in the face. He toppled over landing on his hands and knees in the grass. His small body was still for a moment before they started shaking. He turned his face up to her, small hand over the stinging red mark left on his cheek. Tears started pouring from his too blue eyes.

"Mommy?"

"You are never to play with Derrick again. Not if you still want to call me mom. Do you understand?" She stared at Derrick coldly. "Go home."

Derrick stared at her shocked before he scurried away. The boy stared after his little friend but made no motion to stop him. Without another word, she walked back to the kitchen and resumed her washing acting as if the past minutes never happened at all.

The boy curled up on himself, arms wrapping around his knees to stop himself from shaking as he stared at the spot where Derrick disappear. He doesn't know what he did wrong. But if Mommy was angry then he must have done something wrong. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sobs that threatened to come out. Mommy doesn't like it when he cried. So he won't. He can be a big boy. He stayed in the garden like that, hunched in on himself nursing a bruised cheek until it was dinner time, trying to figure out what he did to make him Mom so mad.

\---

It was late in the evening when Castiel wandered out his room. He managed to call and talk to Michael. The man has landed. He sounded tired but there's a note of hope in his voice. He said he will contact Castiel tonight to let him know the details on what he should do next. Preparation to leave. They had agreed that there was nothing much Castiel could do here and that it would be best if Castiel went back to Chicago where he can be on call if anything were to happen. 

Part of Castiel was relieved and the other part, sad. Heavy hearted. Although he was only here for two months, he had made new friends. Charlie's a great girl. Her cheerful, bubbly and honest-to-a-fault personality relaxed him. He always felt at ease around her, and she never failed to make any atmosphere light and easy. And for a socially awkward person, it was a great help. He would miss her. And Adam, too even if they barely spoke much. His quiet presence was calming in itself. Castiel wasn't sure what to think of Andrew. The man is too out of place and chaotic for Castiel's liking. But he's a pretty relaxed person as well. Too relax maybe. 

Of course, there's Balthazar. He still feels a bit guilty for leaving without saying anything. He hoped Balthazar won't be too hurt. He can't imagine it though. He swiped partners left and right. Although, in his defense, they were sex partners. He only has one boyfriend as he always said. His chest throbbed a little. But it can't be helped. He's sure Balthazar would forget him soon.

As he passed Dean's door, he realized that the person he has the most complicated feelings about is Dean. He doesn't know what to make of him. Of them. What are they? What _were_ they? Were they ever a couple? When? How? Why? They said tragedies make people closer. Maybe that's what they had. And that was it. Maybe if they have the time or the chance, they could slowly figure it out together. See where they could go. And how they could develop. But they don't. At least not Castiel. 

He had decided on his path. Maybe it was the coward way out, accepting Lucifer's and Michael's offer. The path that is laid out for him. People to guide him, to show him the way, to tell him what to do. Instead of venturing into the unknown. Alone. Always afraid. Always unsure. The unknown is terrifying. And Castiel doesn't know if he is or will ever be brave enough to do it. He's not sure about himself. He doesn't think he can handle being alone too well. His past mistakes showed him perfectly well how he handled loneliness. 

Being with Michael gave him purpose. He knew what he has to do and how to do it. It's solid. Something he can rely on. A pillar. That put him at ease. So yes, he may be a coward. So what? He's tired of playing to brave when in actuality he is not. At all. He remembered the black outs. The option his mind had jumped to when cornered. He's weak. So what if he opted to protect himself? No one can blame him for it, after what he'd been through. After what he'd endured. Especially Dean.

He passed the door in silence. Maybe he should say goodbye. Nodding to himself, he thinks he would do that. Then, he can leave with no regret.

When he entered the living room, he sensed that something was wrong right away. The stillness that is so alien in their shared space and the heavy atmosphere hanging thick and loaded in the air. Castiel stared at the scene in front of him. His roommates were all sitting around the wooden table, pale face turned in his direction. He stared, wondering what happened. 

"Did you saw the news?"

"No. I just got up. What news?"

Charlie passed him the university newspaper. The headline reads: **"Tommy Collins found dead, body sliced to shreds."**

Castiel started reading the passage. Tom Collins body was found tied to the lamp post in the parking lot sometime this morning around 8am. Initial report suggests that he died of blood loss from the multitudes lacerations on his body. It was estimated to be in the hundreds. Initial time of death was assumed to be 4am-6am. The exact ToD will be known after the autopsy is done. It also said that the police will be patrolling the grounds for a few day and will be conducting interviews with the students. They also enquired anyone who may have information or had witnessed anything strange to called the school board.

Castiel stared at the article. He almost wanted to vomit. He was staring out his window just this morning. And according to the article, the body was already there. Body sliced to shreds. Gleaming red in the moonlight. A ruby stain on the otherwise etheral horizon. Why can he picture the scene so vividly in his mind? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end. He felt a chill all of a sudden. Something doesn't feel right.


End file.
